


love alive

by lindentree



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apocalypse Domesticity, Awkward Daryl Dixon, Awkwardness, Beth Greene Lives, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, POV Animal, POV Beth Greene, POV Daryl Dixon, Pre-Relationship, Pregnancy, Prison (Walking Dead), Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Unreliable Narrator, piano duets as flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-16 00:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindentree/pseuds/lindentree
Summary: A collection of short prompt fills.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 41
Kudos: 119





	1. ours

**Author's Note:**

> These are just a few short fics I wrote to fill prompts on [tumblr](https://littlelindentree.tumblr.com/). They haven't had a beta's keen eyes on them, so they're a bit unpolished. More info about the individual fics can be found in the notes on each chapter.
> 
> The work title is from "Love Alive" by Heart, a Beth Greene anthem.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in an AU of early season 4 where everything didn't go straight down the toilet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The prompt was "Some short/sweet bethyl (or pre-bethyl) with baby Judith? I’m a sucker for babies being an anchor people orbit around, even if it’s the tougher stuff like sleep regressions/teething."](https://littlelindentree.tumblr.com/post/189164473201/some-shortsweet-bethyl-or-pre-bethyl-with-baby)

It’s night by the time Daryl and Glenn return from the supply run, and although they brought back two minivans filled with canned food and first aid supplies and building materials, Daryl still feels distinctly empty-handed as he approaches Beth’s cell. ****

The floral bedsheet that serves as a makeshift curtain is drawn across the doorway, but the glow of her lamplight shines through. As he pauses in the moonlit corridor, a cry splits the hush of the sleeping cellblock.

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay, sweet girl.”

Beth’s tired voice, and a soft whimper from the baby.

 _Shit_.

“Hey, Greene? You decent?”

A soft, dry laugh.

“C’mon in.”

When he pushes the curtain aside, he finds Beth perched on the edge of her bunk, still dressed in her ragged jeans and a loose t-shirt that’s damp with drool in several spots. At least he hopes for her sake it’s drool. 

Lil’ Asskicker’s in her lap, her face nuzzled against Beth’s chest. She thrashes her head a couple of times, and then gives another whimper and stills.

Beth’s looking up at him, her arms cradled around the baby. There are huge, dark circles under her eyes and her ponytail is a mess, and she looks wrecked. She blinks at him, tilting her head.

“Please tell me you found somethin’ for her.”

Looking at the desperate expression on her face, Daryl can’t even bring himself to say the word. He shakes his head and her eyes drop closed. This is worse than when he had to tell her about Zach. As he watches her chin tremble, he’s absolutely sure that this is one hundred times worse.

“Okay,” she says. She opens her eyes and attempts a smile. It falls extremely short of her usual bright grin. “Thanks for lookin’, anyway.”

“We got painkillers,” Daryl says. “There’s gotta be somethin’ we can give to her.”

Beth shrugs. “Dr. S. says it’s gotta be the liquid kind for infants. He says we don’t have the right suspension, or somethin’, I dunno.”

“Yeah, well, Dr. S. ain’t the one stuck day and night with a teething baby.”

Judith shifts in Beth’s arms, turning her head to look up at Daryl. Her little brow knits into a furious scowl, and she whimpers again. Beth reaches over with one hand to a bowl perched on her chair and grabs a wet washcloth. She wrings it out and offers it to Judith, trying to encourage the baby to chew on it. Judith mouths the cloth for a moment, then abruptly flings it away to land on the dusty floor. 

Daryl huffs, annoyed.

“Jesus Christ. We got some booze stashed around here somewhere. Let’s give ‘er some whiskey.”

Beth shoots him a glare.

“ _Daryl_. The book says you’re not supposed to give ‘em alcohol.” She gestures at the thick, dog-eared paperback baby care book that sits on her desk. 

“Fuck the book. Doubt my mom ever used anythin’ but Old Harper, and look at me. I turned out just fine.”

Beth snorts a laugh and smiles at him. This time it’s a little more genuine and a little less forced, but not even his shitty attempts at making her laugh can chase away the exhaustion that’s plain on her face.

She needs rest as badly as the miserable baby in her lap does.

“Listen, ain’t she Rick’s baby? Seems to me he’s probably due for a night sittin’ up with his own kid.”

Beth’s expression twists, and she shakes her head.

“Of course, but… She’s everyone’s, though. All of ours. She’s _mine_. She’s my responsibility.”

Daryl would roll his eyes, except she’s so genuine. She means every word completely. Beth really would sit right there trying to soothe this baby forever if no one stepped up.

“Give ‘er here,” he says, taking a step into the cell and holding his hands out. Beth shakes her head.

“Daryl, no. You and Glenn left at dawn. You must be exhausted. You need to have somethin’ to eat and get some rest. Carol left a plate -”

“Knock it off. Your shift’s over, Greene. You’re officially relieved. I’ll take her, walk her around for a while, then go see if we can’t wake Rick from his beauty sleep.”

Beth hesitates, studying him, but finally she nods. 

Maggie’s stubborn as hell, but Daryl’s beginning to understand that her sister could give her a run for her money on that front.

Daryl kneels down beside Beth and scoops the baby up into his arms. Judith kicks her legs furiously for a moment, then relaxes as Daryl cradles her close to his chest. She rests her hot, red little cheek against his shoulder, and heaves a deep, world-weary sigh.

He turns to go, but Beth stands and stops him, her hand light on his arm.

“Daryl.”

He turns back, and she doesn’t move her hand. She just looks at him a moment, her head tilted. Then, so quick he can’t even flinch away, she leans over Judith’s head and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Daryl. For everything.”

Daryl’s mouth has gone dry, and he doesn’t even attempt to speak. He just drops his chin and nods, and hightails it out of her cell. 

Everything is quiet as he walks Judith up and down the moonlit cellblock, patting her absently on her back as he waits for his heart to quit pounding so damn hard. As he waits for his skin to stop tingling where she touched him. 

_Kissed him_.

“Shit, kid,” he mutters against the side of Judith’s head. “Think I get why she’s your favourite.”

Judith just sighs and wets Daryl’s shirt with her drool.

He doesn’t even mind.


	2. stunned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in a post-S5 Beth Lives AU type scenario in Alexandria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The prompt was "Bethyl, one of them being absolutely shattered by a domestic moment."](https://littlelindentree.tumblr.com/post/189162812876/bethyl-one-of-them-being-absolutely-shattered-by)

Daryl’s been in the shower about three minutes and his hair’s full of sudsy shampoo when the door bursts open. ****

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency!”

The toilet lid clanks against the tank, followed by the sound of water hitting water, and a long, deep sigh.

“Oof. I’m really sorry. I couldn’t wait.”

Daryl ducks his head under the spray, rinsing the suds out of his hair.

“It’s all right. Just don’t flush.”

The laugh from the other side of the curtain makes a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. He hears some shuffling and the sound of the toilet lid being closed. A moment later, the shower curtain stirs and is pulled aside.

Beth’s face appears, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. She grins at him.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I didn’t want to burst in on your shower, but I didn’t think Mrs. Neidermeier would appreciate seeing me pee beside the house, near her hollyhocks.”

Daryl snorts.

“Anyway, it’s kinda your fault. It’s _your_ baby’s head crushing my bladder down to the size of about a tablespoon.”

Daryl gives his head a final rinse, and turns off the water. He pushes aside the curtain completely. Beth’s standing there in the morning light, wearing the loose boxer shorts she slept in and an oversized t-shirt that curves over the bump of her belly. 

The smile on her face is brighter than the sunshine that fills the room. She holds a clean towel out to him, and abruptly, he’s stunned. Stunned that this sweet girl is handing him a towel in their little house next door to their friends and family, that she’s carrying his baby in her belly.

That they’re here. That they made it.

Daryl takes the towel from her outstretched hand and rubs it over his head before drying the rest of himself off.

“Want some breakfast?”

“Wouldn’t say no.”

Beth smiles at him again, and then turns away.

“C’mon, baby,” she murmurs. “Let’s go make your papa some eggs.”

Daryl climbs out of the shower and he hears her voice drifting back down the hallway, singing her way to make them breakfast.


	3. wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S4 canon divergence AU where they stay, safe and sound, at the funeral home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The prompt was "‘Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes’ (either actual snow or Daryl never having seen The Sound of Music is ??? about Beth singing My Favorite Things)"](https://littlelindentree.tumblr.com/post/189177804061/bethyl-snowflakes-that-stay-on-my-nose-and)

They leave the funeral home just before dawn, trekking across the wide, brown lawn and into the woods. The dead grass crunches beneath their boots, the previous night’s frost coating everything in sight with a thin, crisp layer of white.

Daryl leads the way out into the woods, but Beth carries the crossbow.

They walk until they arrive at the edge of a meadow. The summer wildflowers have long since died and turned brown, but some of the unruly grasses and foliage glow fiery orange and rusty red even through the frost.

Ahead, a quarter of the way around the vaguely circular meadow, is the platform tree stand that Daryl built from the debris and scraps of lumber he found in the shed behind the funeral home. They go to it and climb the wooden rungs that Daryl anchored to the trunk of the tree.

The platform is small, but they just fit, and they sit down side-by-side, cross-legged, to begin their watch over the meadow.

Dawn breaks, but the sky is so low with heavy, dark grey clouds that it seems like there’s hardly any sunlight at all. It seems to Beth like a day for staying indoors by the fireplace. But Daryl had spotted tracks through the meadow the day before, and said that she needed the practice, anyway, so now they sit in the cold and wait.

Daryl’s always quiet when they hunt, but especially so this morning. He’s hardly said a dozen words to her since he shook her awake in the darkness, his hand on her shoulder.

Beth glances at the side of his face. He’s scowling out at the meadow.

“Hey,” she says, shifting her weight to nudge his shoulder with hers. “Isn’t hunting supposed to be fun?”

It’s exactly the wrong thing to say, in every way, and she realises this the moment the words are out of her mouth. Daryl’s head snaps around and he fixes his scowl on her.

“Fun? Ain’t nothin’ fun about goin’ to bed hungry if you fuck up.”

Beth sucks in a breath and looks away, back out over the silent meadow. She tries not to feel too hurt. It was the wrong thing to say, but still. The implication that she’s going to completely fumble this expedition stings.

There’s a long silence between them, broken only by the sound of a flock of late geese flying low overhead, honking urgently to one another, hurrying south to the Gulf.

Daryl sighs.

“I didn’t…” He trails off and makes an aggravated sound in the back of his throat. “I didn’t mean _you’d_ fuck up. I meant, y’know. I meant it’s the only surefire way I know how to eat, and there’s been plenty of times I done the wrong thing and went hungry.”

Beth turns her head to look at him. He’s watching her, his expression anxious and contrite. The hurt eases a little and she shrugs her shoulders.

“We’ve still got a fair bit stashed away. I know we were savin’ it for if somebody comes back, but I’m sure they’ll understand. Anyway, there’s the snares, too, right?”

Daryl nods, and his tension visibly eases. He tries for something approaching a half-smile, an awkward twist of unpracticed muscles. Beth’s heart skips.

“Yeah. We’ll check ‘em on the way back,” he says.

“Sounds good.”

They fall silent again, and watch as a group of little, brown songbirds hop around the base of a dry bush nearby, scrabbling in the dead leaves and the damp earth.

The wind soon picks up, and Beth snuggles deeper into the collar of her jacket, holding the crossbow with one hand and resting it on her thighs so she can pull her other hand inside her sleeve.

_Daryl’s right_ , she thinks. There’s not much about this that’s fun at all.

But maybe it will be worth their while. Maybe they’ll spot a turkey or a grouse. Maybe there’ll be a rabbit caught in one of their snares. Maybe they might even be fortunate enough to get a deer, if Beth doesn’t screw it up. She looks down at the heavy crossbow in her lap and fiddles with the strap.

“You should take it,” she says. “If a deer comes, or anything, really, I don’t wanna… I know I need the practice, but you’re right. We gotta bring somethin’ in soon and I don’t wanna blow our chance.”

Daryl makes a soft _tsk_ sound.

“Only way to learn’s by doin’ it. That includes learnin’ what not to do. Like you said, ain’t like we’re desperate,” he says, his voice low. He tilts his chin and smiles at her again. “Anyway. I got faith in you.”

Beth just looks at him, momentarily struck speechless.

As she stares at him, the wind picks up, and a sprinkling of flurries drifts down from the sky to land in Daryl’s hair and on his face, and in the patchy whiskers that cover his chin.

Beth grins, and opens her mouth to sing.

“ _Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes,_

_Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,_

_Silver-white winters that melt into springs,_

_These are a few of my favorite things!_ ”

Daryl blinks at her.

“Huh?”

“You’ve never seen The Sound of Music?”

“That the one with Mary Poppins and a shit-ton of kids?”

“Yeah.”

“Then no, I ain’t seen it.”

Beth laughs and worms her hand out of her sleeve to take his. She knits their fingers together.

“Well, don’t you worry. You haven’t missed your chance. We used to watch it every Christmas, so I know every single word. I can act the whole thing out for you, start to finish.”

Daryl huffs a sound that’s almost a laugh.

“Lucky me,” he says, his voice dry as paper. Beth laughs again, and Daryl squeezes her hand, holding it tighter, the pad of his thumb rubbing gently against the back of hers.

Her heart leaps like a fish from a still pond, and just like she couldn’t help but sing, she can’t help the words that come tumbling from her mouth.

“I love you, Daryl Dixon,” she says, and leans in to rest her head on his shoulder.

There’s a silent pause that drags out. Beth’s stomach squirms. She refuses to feel badly for telling the truth; she just hopes she hasn’t made him too uncomfortable.

But then he clears his throat.

“Uh. All right,” he says, awkward and breathless. His hand is stiff in hers. A moment later, he exhales tightly. “Love you, too, Beth.”

She rubs her cheek against the rough denim of his jacket, and gives his hand a squeeze.

Maybe they’ll spot a deer, maybe they won’t. But she knows that they’ll eat tonight. She knows that they’ll sit by the hearth in the firelight and be warm. She knows that Daryl will tell her she can play the piano and sing, if she wants, like he does every night.

Whatever else is in store for them can wait. She can worry about it later.

She knows that tonight, they’ll be good.


	4. heart and soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another S4 canon divergence AU where they stay at the funeral home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The prompt was "Beth teaching Daryl something unexpected"](https://littlelindentree.tumblr.com/post/189454354451/beth-teaching-daryl-something-unexpected-im)

Rain slashes the white clapboard siding of the funeral home, and the wind rattles the boards that cover the windows. 

It’s a bitter night outside, but it’s easy to ignore when the front room is warm and golden with firelight and the flickering glow of tealights. It’s easy to forget the wicked arrival of winter altogether when they’ve got the piano and their voices to drown it out.

“This is stupid. I’m gonna fuck it up.”

“You  _ are not _ .”

Beth’s at the piano, and for once, Daryl isn’t listening from across the room. He isn’t listening from the kitchen or the doorway, or from his chair by the front doors where he keeps watch.

He’s right beside her on the piano bench, his hands in his lap.

“‘Course I am. Got no idea what I’m doin’."

“So? Who’s gonna hear? Just you and me and the walkers downstairs."

They removed the walkers in the other room and burned them in the backyard a month ago, when the weather was still mild. They took the coffin and the extra chairs out of the front room three weeks ago, and dragged two double mattresses down from the upstairs bedrooms the same day. Ever since, they sleep in the front room, right by the fireplace, their mattresses an arm’s length away from each other.

It took Beth two weeks to convince Daryl that he didn’t need to keep watch while she slept. 

There are still the walkers in the basement to deal with, but they’re embalmed and inoffensive. Neither Beth nor Daryl has found reason to go down there anyway, so they’ve simply kept the door closed and restricted themselves to the main floor, the only place the heat from the fireplace reaches.

Daryl huffs in exasperation.

“Shit, you’re persistent. You know that?”

“Quit tryin’ to change the subject.” Beth reaches her right hand over in front of Daryl and rests her fingers on the keyboard. “You’re playin’ these two, and then these two, that’s it.”

Beth demonstrates, pressing the keys in time and picking out the simple melody.

Daryl stares down at her hand on the keyboard, his hair hanging in his eyes.

“All right,” he says, sounding anything but. Beth glances down to see him rubbing his thumbs together anxiously, and she stifles a smile.

“Give it a try.”

Haltingly, Daryl takes his right hand and lets his fingers rest on the first two keys she showed him. He presses them in time, then spreads his fingers wider to move to the second set of keys. When he reaches the end of what she’d demonstrated, he stops and pulls his hand back into his lap. He turns his head and looks at her.

"See? That was perfect. You did great!"

Daryl scoffs and rolls his eyes at her, but she can tell by the way his cheeks darken that he's pleased.

She's noticed that about him, in the weeks they've been alone together. It does something to him when she says things like that. When she lets him know he’s done something good.

It’s like flipping on a lightswitch in a dark room.

Beth finds the keys for her part of the duet and places her fingers on them.

“Okay, when I do this,” she says, pressing her keys and tapping out the tempo of the note, “you play these ones, like this.” She reaches her other hand over in front of him again, and demonstrates. “Got it?”

“Mm,” Daryl grunts, placing his right hand on the keyboard again.

“Ready?”

He nods, and Beth takes a beat and then begins to play her part of the duet. She loops through the melody twice, and then gives him a gentle nudge with her elbow. Daryl’s hand moves, and he begins to play along. After a few beats, she hears him release a tense exhale, like he’d been holding his breath.

They play together, just the same few bars over and over, and when Daryl hits the wrong note, Beth grins and lets her pinky finger slip off-beat, so that their song is messy and imperfect and just their own. 

Sliding her gaze to the side, Beth catches a glimpse of the half-smile on Daryl’s face, the awkward pull of unpracticed muscles by the side of his mouth, and she’s reminded of the night they sat at the kitchen table and decided to stay, and he smiled at her that exact same way.

_ You know. _

She sees the instant Daryl becomes aware of her staring. His playing falters and then stops, and he turns his head to look at her.

“What?”

The word is short and abrupt, but his voice is soft, like he’s asking her to tell him a secret. Beth swallows, nervousness making her stomach clench just like it did that night in the kitchen, when he let her know without speaking how much she really means to him.

She still has a hard time believing it. Except he’s come to mean the world to her, so maybe it isn’t so strange that he feels that way about her, too.

“Daryl…”

He tilts his head, his brow furrowed, worry entering his soft expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…” Shaking her head, Beth digs down deep to grab onto her courage. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Daryl blinks, and his cheeks redden again. He stares at her, like he hasn’t heard her or doesn’t understand what he  _ has  _ heard, and then finally he nods.

Beth doesn’t hesitate. She leans across the piano bench and kisses him.

He stays stock still for a long moment, and Beth almost withdraws, except then he exhales hard through his nose and tilts his head, kissing her back. His nearer hand comes up to cup the side of her head, his thumb brushing her cheek and her ear. He kisses her bottom lip gently, and then breaks the kiss, pulling back but staying close enough that their noses bump against each other.

“You too, huh?” he whispers, his voice low and scratchy and his breath hot on her mouth.

Beth lifts a hand to the side of his head, holding him the same way he’s holding onto her. She nods, their noses brushing. She smiles.

“Yeah, me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The duet Beth teaches Daryl is "Heart and Soul" by Hoagy Carmichael.


	5. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Himself never understood why the humans disappeared._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So long ago that I can't even find the message, @natural_blue_26 prompted me with "[Grouse the cat's](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175242/chapters/46915069) POV of Bethyl" and I've somehow finally managed to come through with this mess, the most fun I've ever had writing a prompt fic! This fic's for you, friend! 🐈
> 
> Thanks to M for the much-needed beta and edits. 💞

Himself never understood why the humans disappeared.

They used to come when the days were hot and bright, days when there were bugs to hunt in the long grass. They came in groups and they came alone. They stayed some days and then would go. They left tasty fish heads and bones and soft, pink guts in the shed by the creek, so Himself tolerated their intrusion. 

But the humans also allowed their noisy, sticky young to chase Himself and pull his tail, so Himself preferred to hide in the quiet building that smelled of rust and motor oil to nap in peace.

When the weather turned grey and cold, and the leaves had fallen from the trees in the woods, the humans would go away, all but for the Kind One. The Kind One always stayed behind. He lived in the largest building where all the humans slept, and Himself would join him there once the others had all gone. Himself would spend the coldest, darkest weeks with the Kind One, sleeping in front of the fires he built and hunting the little brown mice that crept around the lodge. Whenever Himself killed one, the Kind One would scratch Himself under his chin and behind his ears. The Kind One would make low sounds in the odd language of humans, which was pleasant enough though Himself did not understand it.

Then one day the Kind One shut himself in the wrong room and did not come back out.

Himself waited at the door and listened. It was silent inside the room for a very long time. Himself stretched out on the floor and scratched at the bottom of the door. Himself cried and yowled, but still the Kind One would not open it. Eventually, Himself fell asleep. When Himself woke, he could hear the Kind One moving again inside the room, but something was strange. Something was not right.

The Kind One growled. The Kind One snarled. The Kind One began to smell of dead, rotting things.

Himself waited for the Kind One to open the door, but he did not. The Kind One just banged on the door and made horrible noises, startling Himself. The Kind One smelled worse and worse, until Himself could not stand it, nor the pangs in his stomach, and he slunk away to catch a mouse to eat.

The Kind One never opened the door again.

Himself hunted mice and spiders, and sometimes the thin, sleepy little snakes that slithered in the darkest corners. Himself missed the Kind One and his chin scratches, and he missed the outside, especially once the grey and the wet and the cold went away and the bright warmth returned. Himself searched all over the lodge until he found a tight tunnel that led outside. Himself had to squeeze and squish and crawl on his belly. Himself had to push against a rough screen that scratched his paws and his nose raw.

But Himself got free and leapt to the ground. He felt the soft, wet grass on his tender paws, and his whole body quivered with joy as he bounded through the grass, towards the trees.

Himself hunted in the woods. Himself ate crunchy bugs and careless birds that flew low enough to be snatched. Himself learned to jump up the outside of the big building and climb in and out as he pleased.

Himself stayed away from the room upstairs. Himself forgot to wonder about the Kind One, and forgot to miss his chin scratches. Himself forgot about the humans altogether, until, one quiet afternoon, a pair of them appeared.

Himself was fast asleep in one of his favourite spots when he heard noises downstairs. He crouched and watched the humans from above. They did not behave like the others he recalled. They did not walk into the building showing their teeth and making loud, excited sounds. The two of them moved the same way Himself did in the woods: silent, bodies tense, _listening_.

They stank of dirt and sweat and fear, and they held bright blades in their hands.

Himself backed up further into the darkness.

They moved from room to room, poking here and there. They spoke to each other in low voices. When they eventually came up the stairs, Himself slunk warily away into one of the rooms and squeezed himself into a dark, low place. Himself watched as the humans came into the room long enough to look around, though they did not find where he was hiding. They did not even look there.

Himself felt pleased, and less frightened, too. These humans were _not_ very clever; they could not see what was right in front of them.

Still, Himself stayed hidden. He listened as they went into each room. He listened as they opened the room where the Kind One had gone. Himself heard scuffling, but not the Kind One’s voice. Later, when the two had closed themselves away inside the room at the end of the hallway, Himself found that the Kind One’s door was still shut, and there was no more nasty snarling or growling to be heard.

The Kind One must not have wanted to see Himself _or_ these new humans.

They stayed all night. They had something to eat that smelled delicious, but they stayed shut behind their door and did not share. Annoyed, Himself searched the dusty corners of the lodge, the best places to find mice. When he caught one, he did not bring it for the two to see, as he would once have done for the Kind One. 

Himself ate on his own and hid away to sleep.

The next morning, the two humans were still there.

Himself watched as they spoke their silly language and showed their teeth to one another. Neither of them rubbed their head against the other’s, but Himself saw them bump their shoulders together.

Uncertain whether he wished to greet them, Himself snuck away for his nap, curling up beneath a dusty bed inside one of the rooms. When he woke, all was very quiet, and Himself wondered if they had decided to leave like all the other humans except for the Kind One.

_The Kind One!_

Himself stood and stretched, then left his sleeping place and padded down the hallway to the room where the Kind One had shut himself so long ago. 

The door to the room was open.

Himself went inside. It was silent and empty; the Kind One was no longer here. Himself could smell only rot and the kind of old blood one should not taste.

His back bristling, Himself backed out of the room and went downstairs.

The taller of the two humans was nowhere to be found; Himself could smell only a trace of his sharp scent. The other’s scent was strong, though, and she was making plenty of noise besides. Himself quickly found her in the room that used to be busy, hot and noisy, where Himself was sometimes given meaty scraps to eat, late at night. Himself leapt onto one of the platforms where the humans once ate and watched the human as she explored.

This one smelled good, now that the stink of dirt and fear was gone. She smelled like comfort and protection. Something stirred deep in his memory, the milky scent of his mother’s soft belly and the rough combing of her tongue through his fur. The way she would firmly clasp him by the neck whenever he wandered too far. The sound of her deep purr gentling him to sleep, her body cradling his.

Himself flopped onto his side on the table and stretched his toes out in every direction, as far as he could. His paw brushed against a small, heavy object in the middle of the table. He stretched further and batted at it, watching with delight as it slid along the tabletop and over the edge. It hit the floor and the Soft One spun around, the smell of fear hitting Himself like a pungent dart.

She did not run like a mouse or freeze like a plump baby rabbit. She paused only a moment, then came out through the doorway and stopped, looking right at Himself. 

She opened her mouth and said something in her strange language, something friendly, then pursed her lips and made a sound Himself understood. It was the very same sound the Kind One used to make when he wanted to give Himself a scratch behind his ears. 

Himself leapt off the table and went to her side. The Soft One knelt down and offered her hand to him, like humans will do, as though he could not smell her across the room. 

Funny creatures. 

Himself nudged her hand, and the Soft One understood: she ran a hand along his back. A pulse of ecstasy shot all through him, and he rubbed his body against her leg before flopping down at her feet.

The Soft One made more gentle noises and petted him, making his whole body tingle with pleasure.

Himself liked this Soft One. He liked her very much.

After a moment, the Soft One stood and gathered some things from the other room. She walked away, and Himself went after her, getting ahead of her so he might show her the way back to her sleeping spot. She was not very good at following, though; she kept trying to get around him, nearly stepping on his toes.

Himself supervised the Soft One as she played with the rags in one of the strange machines upstairs. She pulled a few pieces out and shook a nasty smelling white powder into the machine before banging it shut. The noise of the machine irritated Himself, and he watched her from outside the room as she scrubbed her odd, colourful scraps of fabric in the sink before hanging them on a rack to drip into the sink. 

The Soft One went downstairs again, and then outside. Himself thought he might like to follow her there, too, to keep an eye on her, but the pouring rain turned him back. He leapt up to peer out the window. He could see the Soft One approach the other human, the Sharp One, where he stood beside a low, smoky fire.

Himself watched, wondering, as they stood together. Humans had always been strange, but these two were especially so, standing in the rain only to watch a fire and get smoke in their eyes. 

But then the Sharp One reached out and took the Soft One’s hand in his. The Soft One looked up at the Sharp One, and her eyes looked to Himself very soft, the kind of soft that says: _Here is my belly. I trust you._

Himself jumped down from the counter and stretched his back and his legs. Something invisible tickled the base of his spine, and he bolted, scratching at the floor and tearing out of the room and into the next, dodging between table legs. He whipped by the big stone fireplace and sprung off the back of the dusty leather couch where fishy-smelling humans used to sit in the evenings, shouting and laughing and rattling ice in glasses.

Himself bounded up the stairs and down the long hallway, to the room where his guests had slept. He sniffed the dirty bags they’d left on the floor, then hopped up onto the bed.

There they left only the scent of fresh sweat and their skin and their warm affection for each other on the sheets. 

Himself bent his head, spreading his toes to groom between them. He laid down and groomed the fur on his side. He began to feel sleepy, purring to himself as he licked the fur on his belly.

Before he knew it, he was asleep.

Himself was awoken some time later by the sound of footsteps in the other room. His whole body tensed, but then the fresh scent of the outside and the Sharp One reached his nose, and Himself relaxed. He stood and stretched and yawned. He jumped down from the bed and sauntered into the other room, where he found the Sharp One bent low beside the large box where the Kind One used to build crackly fires that kept them warm no matter how the wind shrieked outside.

The Sharp One was building a fire.

Himself sat down in the doorway, his paws and his tail tucked against his body. He waited, but the Sharp One did not acknowledge him or make any kind of greeting.

_Rude._

Himself tilted his head down and flopped to the floor, stretching himself out as long as he could. The Sharp One looked over at him.

The Sharp One said something, then, and what he said was _not_ friendly. He did not use a pleasant tone like the Soft One had. Himself lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at the Sharp One, flicking his ears back. The Sharp One had turned his attention back to the fire. 

The smell of the outside still clung to the Sharp One’s clothes. It smelled of cold rain and dead leaves and smoke. Underneath, though, Himself could smell something else. He could smell fresh blood. 

This Sharp One was a hunter, like Himself. 

Himself rolled to his feet and stalked over to the Sharp One, taking a deeper whiff of the scents on the Sharp One’s jacket. 

Rabbit blood.

Relishing the scent, Himself rubbed his face against the Sharp One’s thigh, dragging his whole body along the Sharp One’s.

The Sharp One made a low, annoyed kind of sound, but did not push Himself away. He just kept stacking sticks inside the woodstove. Himself rubbed along the Sharp One’s leg, butting him with his head.

Then the Soft One returned and Himself followed her around the room for a time to make sure she didn't get herself into trouble. But soon he grew tired, and went into the other room once again to doze.

When he woke, it was dark, and so quiet he thought perhaps the humans had left, after all.

Himself jumped down from the bed and stretched his back before going into the other room to investigate. There he found the fire glowing, the room cozy and warm. He also found the dirty bags the humans had brought with them, still sitting on the floor.

Himself heard the sound of splashing water from the bathroom, but when he went to the door, he found it closed. Himself was sitting there, still, considering pawing at the door, when he heard a noise.

Following the sound, he went down the hallway to find the Sharp One standing in the room with the noisy machines where the Soft One had been playing earlier. The Sharp One was completely still, one hand resting on a basket in front of him, the other holding one of the small scraps of fabric the Soft One had hung over the sink.

“Fuck’s sake,” the Sharp One muttered, dropping the fabric into the basket like it had stung him.

He turned, then, and saw Himself sitting in the doorway. The Sharp One didn’t acknowledge Himself, though, and simply gathered up the basket and walked back to the rooms the humans had claimed as their own.

Himself followed, jumping onto the couch to sniff the basket the Sharp One left there.

The Sharp One was standing in the kitchen staring at the bathroom door. He didn’t move; he barely breathed. Himself watched him, confused. Then the Sharp One inhaled sharply and brought his hands to his face. He hid behind his hands for a moment, rubbing them against his face. 

Himself was puzzled. He had never known humans to wash themselves properly, the way his mother taught Himself, so that could not be what the Sharp One was trying to do.

Finally the Sharp One took his hands from his reddened face and looked around the room. When his gaze landed on Himself, he huffed a short, rude sound out of his nose. Himself bristled.

“You probably want somethin’ to eat, huh?”

Himself stared, unblinking. He recognized one of those sounds.

The Sharp One began opening and closing the little doors in the kitchen, then took a small object and made a sound that triggered a memory deep inside Himself, the grind of metal on metal.

_Eat._

The rich, pungent smell of fish hit Himself’s nose, making his mouth water and his whole body quiver. 

Himself leapt off the couch and trotted to the Sharp One’s side, watching with delight as the Sharp One tapped the whole can of watery fish out onto a dish. The Sharp One carried it a few steps out of the kitchen, setting it down just in front of the fire.

Glancing up at the Sharp One’s face, Himself considered that even the Kind One had only ever shared _part_ of a can of fish with Himself. Himself had never had a whole can all to himself.

The Sharp One stood up and took a step back, and Himself quickly rubbed his body against the Sharp One’s legs in thanks before crouching down to lick up the juicy fish.

“Hmph. Well, _she_ likes you, I guess.”

The Sharp One turned away, then, and went to the wide platform in the kitchen, where he took a little white stick out of a box and set the tip of it on fire. He went to the far wall and opened one of the windows, letting in a burst of cool, wet air.

The smoky scent of the Sharp One’s stick reminded Himself of the Kind One, and of his quiet voice and the pleasant way he would scratch Himself’s chin.

Neither of these humans were the Kind One. But the Soft One had offered her own scratches, and the Sharp One had opened a can of fish. That was not bad, Himself thought, after so long on his own.

Besides, the grey, wet season had returned. Outside was no place for humans as silly and clumsy as these. It might be nice for Himself not to spend another nasty season alone in the cold, dusty darkness eating mice and spiders. It might be nice to have a fire in the box and a dish of fish and perhaps even a warm lap on which to sleep.

It might be nice, in fact, to allow these humans to stay.

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at [tumblr](https://littlelindentree.tumblr.com/).


End file.
